


A place to rest my head

by Elisexyz



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26947852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: Finally, Napoleon is done for the day.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 34
Kudos: 148





	A place to rest my head

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this Tumblr prompt.](https://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/631980013576765440/) Anon wanted fluff and fluff they shall receive!

He manages to get the key in on his second try, which is quite impressive, if he can say so himself. He’s tired enough that it’s a tiny miracle that he didn’t try to break into the wrong apartment, really. Or the wrong building to begin with.

He’s so thoroughly exhausted that everything feels numb, even breathing doesn’t feel too satisfactory, as if his lungs had decided that they are going to let in about 50% of the oxygen they’d have room for, because _that_ is the maximum effort that they are capable of at the moment. Pushing the door open without making too much noise as he walks in, just in case Illya is asleep, is a challenge, given how tempting it would be to drag his feet and possibly kneel over and sleep by the door, but he makes an effort, trying to think of his _wonderful_ bed and his personal space heather that he has every intention of snuggling with, whatever he may think of it.

When he glances at their bedroom, he finds the door open and the light still on. He smiles a little, barely remembering to lock the door before he miraculously finds enough will to stride to the bedroom.

Illya is lying on his side of the bed, already under the covers and reading a book, which he puts down to give him a onceover. “All good?” he asks, with that little inquisitory frown that means he’s ready to detect any bullshit coming from him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Napoleon says, waving a dismissing hand before shrugging off his jacket. “I’m just wrecked.” The mission did go well, he’s always been good at charming smiles and seduction followed by some quick stealing, he got out without so much as a scratch—well, with _some_ scratches, but not the bad kind. He just really wants to sleep for a week. “There was a damn kid kicking my seat the whole flight,” he mutters, which makes Illya grin, because of course he’s delighted by his misfortune, the asshole.

A few moments later, though, he finds his pyjamas waiting for him, left by Illya so that he wouldn’t have to dig through any drawers once he came back, so maybe he can forgive him for being a bit of an asshole.

He quickly gets changed, eyeing Illya only to find that he’s gone back to his book, and _god_ that spot next to him looks _terribly_ inviting. Soon enough, he’s crawling under the covers and curling up next to Illya, sliding under his arm and wrapping himself around him like ‘a really clingy bear’ – Illya’s words, not his: it’s kind of an habit.

He takes a deep breath, his head profusely thanking him as soon as he’s closed his eyes and his muscles beginning to relax now that he doesn’t have to hold himself up anymore.

Illya shifts a little to adjust his grip on him, because for all his teasing about clingy bears he is always happy to hold him, and he quietly asks: “Do you need me to turn it off?”

It takes a few seconds for Napoleon to even realize that he’s talking about the light. “Honestly, I’m too tired to care,” he mutters, nuzzling against his shirt as if to get better settled. He feels so _heavy_ that, really, not being surrounded by darkness is not going to do much to keep him from sleeping.

He feels more than hears Illya humming in acknowledgement, and yet in a few seconds something moves to shield him from the lamp. He takes a peak, his natural curiosity not quite dead yet, apparently, to find that Illya has moved the book in front of the lamp anyway. He smiles, his chest filling with so much affection that for a second he considers dragging himself up to kiss him, but he only closes his eyes again, gripping him a little tighter and muttering a ‘good night’.

By morning, he won’t even remember his answer, just the comforting weight of Illya’s arm around him, the steady _thump_ against his ear and a passing thought that sounded a lot like _ah, it’s so good to be home_.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates comments, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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